


The Torment of Stillness

by Hanatamago



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bondage, Charon's Non-humanoid Anatomy, Daedalus' Magical Vibrator, Gags, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Prior Consent, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27896494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/pseuds/Hanatamago
Summary: When Hermes is mysteriously missing from one of Zagreus’ escape attempts, the prince assumes that some new task from the gods must have him all tied up.Of course, Charon knows exactly what’s keeping the little messenger god occupied.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 414





	The Torment of Stillness

Charon strode into the Temple of Styx just as the rumbling gears signaled the prince’s arrival. He set out his finest wares: an Anvil of Fates, two juicy Poms of Power, a Centaur Heart, Demeter’s cruel blessings, and smattering of Titan’s Blood foisted out of the eternal Styx itself. The prince strolled into the shop, gazing furtively at the items before letting out a long sigh.

He hardly had enough obol. Charon could smell it. Two-hundred and thirty-six coins exactly. The prince would need far more to clean Charon’s shop of its wares.

“Damnit, where is he?” Zagreus murmured. “Of all the times to run late… Perhaps he’s got another important assignment from the gods.”

“Hrrrrrrroohhh…”

“Gah-” Zagreus turned around, “Sorry, just thinking aloud.”

And with that, the prince hurried off into the tunnels. Moments later, he skipped back in, pockets laden with newly pilfered gold. He went for the Titan’s Blood. Perhaps not the wisest choice if he hoped for success against his father, but Charon would not pretend to know the inner workings of the strange prince’s mind.

Zagreus turned to leave the shop, ready to face Cerberus. But just before he ran off, he paused.

“By the way, have you seen Hermes lately?” Zagreus asked, “Er- I know you two are ‘professional associates’ and all - whatever that means.”

“ _Graaaaaaah._ ”

“Right. _Right._ ” Zagreus sighed, “Well, thank you, Charon mate - be seeing you inevitably soon.”

* * *

As the little prince made his way down the last hall of the Temple of Styx, Charon slipped into his vault, silent as the grave. Finally, the ferryman would have a long, undisturbed moment of peace, unbothered by the comings and going of aimless shades and princes of hell alike. 

Piles of glittering obol and sacks full of gems, crystalline darkness, and valuable chthonic keys filled the room. Shelves upon shelves filled with unique books, scrolls, and other priceless trinkets from all across the mortal world lined the walls - all manner of things that mortals marked their perceived (and overestimated) value with.

His vault was usually silent. It was usually lit only with the ever-burning torches mounted on the walls. Usually, the vault was inhabited by Charon, and Charon alone. But not today.

Charon relaxed into a sturdy, cushioned armchair fashioned from dark wood and silk. He set his bottle of nectar - a gift from the prince’s last visit - aside on a small round table, finely engraved with the sigils of the underworld. He poured the honeyed liquor into two fine crystal glasses - one for himself, and one for his captive.

_Perfection._

Charon took a sip of his nectar, languidly indulging himself in the sight of his little, fidgeting prize.

Hermes, god of everything Charon found passably interesting in the mortal realm, lay before him sprawled over a pile of golden obol. The usually zippy little god was now stilled by Charon’s unyielding restraints, absolutely _wrecked_ and whimpering as he had been for nearly an hour now under Charon’s treatment. Golden chains glinted in the light, binding Hermes’ forearms from wrist to elbow. His knees, too, were bound, forced apart by a stiff metal rod, leaving him no quarter from Charon’s greedy, roaming eyes.

Indeed, his view was absolute perfection. Slick oil shone on the inside of the messenger god’s thighs, still wet where Charon had lavished him with attention earlier before sentencing him to his current, most beautiful torment. 

A thin golden chain dangled between his muscular thighs, connected to three infernal, marble-sized spheres whirring fervently inside of him. A contraption invented by Daedelus himself - inspired by a dream from Aphrodite or somesuch. Whatever its inception, Hermes was surely damning it now. His hips twitched as though he could escape the hellish things - or as though he could press back into them _further_ , but no. The little god had no control over the orbs at all, and certainly no _escape_.

Part of Charon longed desperately to rise from his armchair and tug at the chain - to twist and prod his fingers inside Hermes and tease him ever more. Ha. Could that truly be crueler than this? Still, Charon found his patience. He took another sip of his delicious nectar and basked in the sight. For once, Hermes had a rare, clear schedule, and all the time in the world to spend suffering under Charon’s whims. 

The boatman had never much minded Hermes’ chattering, but had also learned to appreciate the merits of Hermes’ silence. Or, rather, the merits of Hermes’ high whines, muffled by the bunched silk of his bright scarf-turned-makeshift gag. If Charon had asked him questions, doubtless Hermes would try to respond, however, he suspected that Hermes knew well what his wordless sounds did to Charon. If he played it up, then Charon would never protest.

The little winged god squirmed on the pile of obol, trying his very damndest to fix Charon with a demanding gaze, like he just _ought_ to come over there and touch him already! But Charon was nothing if not patient and inevitable. And Hermes’ frustration crumbled quickly under the thundering waves of relentless pleasure threatening to crash over him. Easily, helplessly, he succumbed to the inexorable buzzing of the contraption inside of him.

The orbs were merciless, shocking him with irregular pulses of bliss whenever the Fates - or Chaos, perhaps - seemed to fancy. Hermes could not brace himself, nor could he recover between the unpredictable tremors. He spiraled into the inescapable ecstasy, wound and unwound himself until Charon had strung him out entirely, leaving him as tense and thin as a shining thread of silk.

Charon did, of course, take some amount of satisfaction in Hermes’ pleasure. On most other days, the boatman would have been more than sated by watching Hermes ride himself to the very heavens on Charon’s cock. He always made a good show of that. Yes, when he desired that sort of thing, there was nothing better than watching the little winged god stutter and moan into his beautiful release.

But on this day, Charon had other plans. Hermes had had far too easy of a time lately, taking advantage of the poor boatman’s generosity and lust for him. Perhaps it would surprise some, but Charon fell easily into the habit of spoiling Hermes, taking his time lavishing each inch of his body with pleasure until Hermes begged him to _just fuck him_ already.

A less observant being might chalk it up to Hermes’ incessant rushing around, but Charon knew he always planned plenty of time for their encounters. A necessity - he said - because he would always rather be ahead of schedule than behind. Hermes rushed him for other reasons, then. For one other reason. He was reluctant to let Charon unravel him completely.

Though, this time, it had been his suggestion. A celebration for Charon managing the incoming souls from Ares’ great war, perhaps. 

(Charon hardly paid the pretense any mind - it was as flimsy as the smoke spilling from his lips.) 

Nevertheless, Hermes had wanted it, and Charon was more than willing to comply.

Today, Hermes would have to work for his pleasure. A thin band of gold wrapped around the base of his cock, constricting to block him from reaching bliss every time he seemed to come so close. Ha. It must have been absolutely infuriating for the swift little god - to restrain not only his body, but his very pleasure as well. Hermes writhed on the pile of coins, driven insatiable and impatient (though, he was always impatient) by the endless whirring of the orbs - and perhaps, too, by Charon’s molten gaze on his body.

It must have been absolutely maddening for the little god. But it was _certainly_ satisfying to watch.

Charon took another sip of his nectar, enjoying his private show. With a flick of his wrist, the contraption began to buzz stronger, whirring excitedly at his command. Hermes let out a broken, frustrated moan and collapsed on his elbows. He buried his cheek into the pile of obol, though there was no hiding his crimson flush from Charon. He was beautiful, truly.

Slick beads of precum dripped from his flushed cock, smearing onto the obol beneath. Ordinarily, Charon might have been bothered by such desecration of his sacred coin, but Hermes made it look so _perfectly_ blasphemous. For him, Charon would make an exception, for his pleasure-drunk body only added to the value of his hoard.

The little god’s wings fluttered and twitched as his body wobbled under Charon’s gaze as though it might break. He moaned out some frustrated, unintelligible sound that might have been Charon’s name under the silk gag. His hips rolled back, not in the way they might twitch in reaction to the orbs, but in a way Charon’s more merciful senses might find enticing.

Hermes knew what he was doing. And that, toothless as it was, was payback. Charon hissed, spurred on by his wanton noises. He slowly parted his robes, as though Hermes, too, deserved a show, and began to stroke himself in long, unhurried tugs, drawing out his own satisfaction.

When Hermes forced his eyes open again, he met Charon with a glare that could only possibly be described as terribly _cute_. His fire was cheapened by the unstoppable tide of sweet noises the orbs forced out of him. Still, his gaze was enough to voice his haughty protest of how unfair it must be that Charon should be allowed to pleasure himself while the little god found no relief from his merciless torment.

Ha. He was in Charon’s realm after all. Perhaps it was not fair, but Charon did not care in the slightest.

Still, he took the smallest amount of pity on the flighty little messenger, only because Charon could only resist his charm for so long. With another flick of his wrist, the orbs calmed to a low, rhythmic pulse inside of him. Hermes sighed in relief, letting a bit of the tension dissipate from his stiff shoulder as he took a shuddering breath in.

Charon set his glass aside. The urge to touch Hermes had finally won out over his cold, eternal restraint. Ordinarily, it would take eons before Charon even considered straying from his steady path up and down the Styx. And yet, the little god was something of a catalyst. His fast-beating wings prompted Charon, too, to quicken his step and deviate from his well-worn ways.

The boatman rose from his chair, letting his pitch-black robes fall to the floor. He knelt before Hermes, bony fingers itching to feel the little god’s flushed skin underneath his own freezing touch. A low, affectionate growl slipped from his lips. To most, even his highest praises sounded monstrous, but Hermes had never faltered in the face of his ancient chthonic nature. Violet smoke billowed forth, rolling over Hermes’ back like a comforting blanket. When he finally laid a hand on Hermes’ smooth, well-muscled shoulder blades, the little god squirmed to lean into his touch.

Charon grew greedy then. Perhaps ‘greed’ was not the proper word for him acting on his desires. Hermes was his, after all. In Charon’s vault, for however long Hermes could steal away from his messenger duties, he had given himself entirely to Charon. They had set limits, of course - more for Charon’s sake than Hermes’. But Hermes would always refuse to hear of Charon’s plans. He preferred to be surprised. Charon enjoyed surprising him, too.

Charon ran his hand over Hermes’ tanned skin, sliding it down to caress his waist, then further down still to grip his ass. The little god shuddered at the touch, whining sweetly as though he might sway the boatman from his terribly cruel patience.

No other god - no other being could get away with such pleas. Hermes had a sway on Charon that no other being in existence had, and Charon was not entirely sure why. The little flutter in his fiery wings and the glimmer in his sunlit steps as he sprinted down to the Styx were certainly enough to draw Charon’s eye.

Yet, Charon’s attraction to the little god was no simple aesthetic preference. Something enthralled him about Hermes - something between his soft, smooth skin paired with his unmatched speed and fiery confidence. He burned like a blazing brazier, and ever more intense when Charon had him in his inescapable grasp. The little god might tease the boatman from time to time, but it never once felt like an overstep. Everything about Hermes seemed perfectly balanced to push Charon to the edges of his sanity, and yet never tip over into annoyance.

Hermes’ laughter was brighter than the chime of coins clinking together in his pouch. His airy moans were sweeter than any nectar the prince brought him. His silky, tanned skin felt better under Charon’s hands than any prize that mortals or gods alike had ever offered him.

His fingers roamed further, tracing across the rim of Hermes’ slick, tormented hole. Hermes shivered at his touch, using every inch of his (admittedly short) patience to stay still and be a good little god for Charon. He pulled his fingers away.

Hermes pouted, loudly groaning his irritation through the gag, but he stayed still, obeying Charon’s implicit commands.

A rasping laugh slipped from Charon’s taut grey lips. The little god deserved a reward, he decided. The boatman returned his hand, pressing his fingers into Hermes without warning. He stretched easily around the boney fingers, ridged by golden rings. Oil eased the way, allowing Charon to probe inside of him, teasing as he pushed the orbs around in languid amusement. Hermes was always so tight around him, regardless of how far he pushed the little god. He burned like a gentle furnace, soft as velvet and warmer than anything else in the realm of the dead by far.

The swift messenger god shuddered and pressed his face into his bound wrists. His hips could not help but impulsively twitch back, seeking Charon’s fingers deeper, _deeper_ always. Charon tutted and withdrew his fingers, leaving Hermes empty. A frustrated cry bled through the gag. 

Perhaps another time, his whining would have earned him a smack or ten on his perfect, tempting ass. But even Charon had to admit that he had done well to withstand Charon’s torment. Charon was not so cruel a master that he would not reward the little god at all. It was a challenge to wear through Hermes’ stamina, but Charon could tell he was nearly gone. His little furling wings were so restless now, twitching at the very lightest vibrations or the softest touch.

And he had provided Charon with a magnificent view.

Charon gently rolled Hermes onto his back, putting his flushed, desperate body on full display. And Charon, too, yearned to touch him. He slipped away the soft gag, quickly replacing the silk with his own thin lips. Hermes barely let out a little squeak before Charon’s thick, intoxicating fog forced its way down his throat, leaking out only where their lips parted.

When he did pull away, a puff of fog bloomed from Hermes’ puffy lips. Charon let his hand rest against the little god’s throat, stroking the soft, heated skin. Hermes panted hard, collecting his breath. His slick lips shone in the torchlight, beckoning Charon to kiss him again - not yet. As soon as Hermes gathered his breath, he spoke again.

“Ah, good enough show for you?” he rasped, voice rough from the gag. Still, he managed a wink, wrecked as he was. His body might have trembled under Charon’s touch, but his spirit was bright as ever. “Have I earned some of that nectar yet?”

Charon chuckled and stepped back towards the table to retrieve his glass of nectar. He had certainly earned a small sip for enduring all that Charon had put him through. Not that Hermes would have it any other way, of course. For as flighty and fast as he was on the job, Charon knew that he enjoyed being forced to slow down once in a while too, even if that meant being taken out of commission for an hour or two. 

Even Hermes needed to rest sometimes, and Charon figured he had a terribly difficult time forcing himself to lay about. But someone like Charon… Yes, Charon could string him out and overwhelm him. He could set Hermes’ mind blank for a time, if his companion so desired.

“Going to make me wait even longer?” Hermes teased. He sucked in a breath as Charon turned around, nectar in tow. “There we are… Took long enough, didn’t we.” His hazy eyes flitted over Charon’s bare form, drinking in the sight of him. Charon never understood what he found so desirable about his chthonic form, but… Well, he appreciated Hermes’ fearless interest nonetheless.

Taut grey skin stretched over his muscular body, toned by his lengthy voyages up and down the Styx (and, sometimes, tested by smacking down unruly denizens of the underworld). But his vague musculature was where his resemblance to humanoid gods ended. Wisps of violet smoke curled off his skin, wandering towards Hermes like ethereal feelers. His chest was marred by glowing purple protruded ribs - how Hermes did not shrink at the sight of monstrosity, Charon did not know. Violet ichor flowed through his veins, peeking through the thinnest bits of his skin at his wrists.

And then, there was his cock. That, Charon had identified, was what always stopped Hermes’ whizzing thoughts straight in their tracks when he undressed each time. Ancient mist clung to his form, almost as though it were a shadow of his stripped robes. As he stroked himself, the dark mist swirling around his cock shifted into all manner of different textures and morphologies. Scales, ribs, tentacles - whatever form he desired, Chaos granted him the power to take. Of course, that power extended to most of his body, but he had never desired to change his human-like form into anything more monstrous than it already was.

Charon carefully approached, then tipped a small bit of nectar between Hermes’ lips. With one last, sweet kiss, Charon’s mercy ended.

He set the glass back on the table, then positioned himself behind Hermes. Charon pushed the little god’s bound knees up to his chest, then pressed the tip of his shifting cock against his slick entrance. 

“Wh-” Hermes squirmed, “Haa - with those things still inside me? N-not sure I can take that, boss.” 

Charon groaned and ran his adorned fingers over Hermes hips and nudged against him again, just threatening to breach him.

“If you say so,” he gasped, “And I suppose you are saying so, and you-”

Charon snapped his hips forward.

“Cha-” Hermes jolted and let out a high, breathy moan, “- _nngh_ , I-I can’t...”

Oh, he could.

Charon rumbled sweetly in his ear, rubbing soothing circles into the hollow of his hips as he pushed in. Hermes cried out, half in pain and half in sheer, uncontrolled bliss. His wings trembled and curled as Charon forced his lithe, lean body to accommodate the head of his ribbed chthonic cock on top of the orbs.

Slowly, fitfully, Hermes relaxed under Charon’s touch, letting him push deeper and _deeper_ with every powerful thrust. Hermes’ rough cries smoothed into singsong moans as Charon found a gentle, yet unyielding rhythm. And, unintelligible Chaos almighty, when Charon finally sunk into the squirming little god in full, it was pure bliss. The diabolical orbs buzzed along his cock, pressing harder inside Hermes as Charon rocked into him. The little messenger god cried out and clenched hard around him, quavering as the orbs brushed against his prostate. 

“Ch-Charon,” Hermes moaned, followed only by a litany of mixed curses and pleas in the colorful human languages he had picked up on his travels. Charon bent over him, pacifying him with a few thin, curling puffs of heady smoke. Hermes pouted.

“H-hey now, I’ve been good, haven’t I?” Hermes stammered, “Earned my k-keep?”

Charon grumbled, noncommittal. Hermes just laughed, the sweet sound just as bright as it was breathy with lust.

“Alright - you’d like me to beg, then?” the little god fluttered his wings, beckoning poor Charon in with his teasing, irresistible grin. “ _Please, Sir_? How’s that for you? C-could do more if you-”

“ _Hrrrnnn_ ,” Charon growled and snapped forward, wiping Hermes’ cocky smirk away with a momentary lapse of raw, uncontrolled overstimulation. With a wave of his fingers, the orbs picked up their pace, buzzing stronger inside of Hermes.

“O, S-sir Charon,” Hermes stuttered out, still defiant, though a thick veil of lust clouded his voice. “ _Styx_ -”

_That_ egged Charon on too. Hearing such a curse fall from the little god’s pretty lips - swearing on the very domain of the boatman himself. For all the ways he might unravel the bright little god, Hermes had his own clever ways of tugging at Charon’s practiced restraint.

Perhaps Charon would grant him pleasure now.

He _had_ earned it, after all.

Certainly, Charon had worn through his stamina by this point. With a snap of his fingers, the cruel gold band fell away from his cock. Charon thrust into him mercilessly, drinking in all of the little god’s reactions as he _unraveled_ before the boatman. Hermes came with a wordless, broken moan, tightening around Charon’s cock.

Charon fucked him through his orgasm, and through the aftershocks, and past that still when he was merely a shattered mess of shivering wings and broken moans. But Hermes would not have it any other way - he insisted Charon seek his own pleasure, no matter how far gone he seemed. Something about that, Hermes must have enjoyed. The overstimulation, the helplessness, the reciprocation - what it was, Charon did not understand, but the way he always insisted, the way that his step always looked a touch airier, a touch more fluttery after Charon fucked the very light out of him - Charon knew he was not imposing.

Charon came with a low hiss, swooping down to invade Hermes’ mouth with a kiss that was half vapor. He kissed back slowly, lazy in the way he only ever was when he was this fucked out and boneless.

“R-really did a number on me, boss,” Hermes mumbled, basking in Charon’s heavy, tepid embrace. 

“Hraaahhh,” Charon cooed lovingly - or with as much the sense of ‘lovingly’ as possible for a being like him.

He let the orbs fade to a stillness, then slipped them out of Hermes. The gilded chains fell away from him as readily as limp threads. That much was not Charon’s doing, but Hermes’ himself. He was god of many things, travel among them. Hermes could never be bound unless he allowed it. For Charon, he did - for Charon, he wished to be stilled and pushed and _tormented_. Though perhaps he still took comfort in knowing that he could always fly free.

Hermes should have known better than to try to lift his legs then, but his spritely nature got the better of him. As soon as he tried to push himself up, he collapsed into Charon’s arms with all the grace of a newborn foal.

“Sorry there, my associate,” he chuckled, “Suppose I’ve been off my feet a little too long. When you’re as quick as me, you’ve really got to stay in tip-top shape.”

“Hrrrrrrrrrrngh...” Charon easily scooped him up into a bridal carry, whisking them both over to his luxurious armchair. He sat back against the cushioned chair with Hermes tucked tightly into his lap. 

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, old man.” Hermes said, “Though I suppose if I don’t take care of myself well enough, I’ve always got you for that, haven’t I?”

“Graaaahhh…” Charon muttered, flustered - though only Hermes, god of all languages, and excellent reader of thoughts besides, could ever pick apart the meaning of his ‘words’. 

“Nope. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” he smirked and pressed a kiss to the boatman’s pallid cheek. “But I’ll make it worth your while, won’t I?

Charon groaned something along the lines of affirmation, and that was that. Perhaps, indeed he was stuck with the little messenger god. 

He would not mind the company.

Charon pulled his dark robes from the floor and draped them around the two of them like a blanket. The draft of the underworld hardly affected someone so cold and unfeeling as the boatman of the damned, but Hermes was grateful for the warmth. Hermes huddled into the void-spun silk, tucking himself into Charon’s chest. His wings fluttered softly, content to rest, if only for a second.

Charon would not have Hermes in his grasp for very long. Soon enough, the quick little god would dash on to his next job. But Charon would bask in the precious few moments he had before Hermes could stand on his own. He treasured them. More than most things in his vault, even.

Charon tried not to think about how short those moments would be.

“Say we have another drink?” Hermes asked coyly, “I know you didn’t finish that whole bottle just watching me. Though you could’ve, I bet, even slow of a drinker as you are - that’s how long you took in getting around to me.”

His soft, sleepy smile shone brighter than any polished obol in the whole of his hoard. When he sailed upon the surface, he did not care much for the painfully vibrant blemish in the sky that mortals called the ‘sun’, but he imagined he could gaze into Hermes’ light for hours on end. If only Hermes would grant him that long. 

And yet, delaying his leave… Asking for a drink… It was an unexpected change from his usual flighty demeanor. A welcome one, of course. He had never stayed of his own volition. Perhaps he never had the pretense to.

Perhaps Charon should start charging the prince prices in nectar.

“Do I have something on my face?” Hermes asked, “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, gentleman that you are.”

Charon shook his head and poured them each another glass of the honeyed amber. He passed one along to Hermes.

“Just one, then I’m off! Can’t keep the gods waiting on their messages too long - they might start to suspect something, and we can’t have that.” He took a quick sip of nectar. “Though, suppose I could just say I got caught up with some business down here - they hate hearing about the place, and it’s hardly a lie, is it?”

“Hohhhhh,...”

“Half-truth, then,” he grinned cheekily. “And maybe I’ll have to make a habit of getting caught up down here more often, hm?”


End file.
